


King is Crown (It's Do or Die)

by RustedSilver



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU-1940s, Albus and Harry have a frenemy thing going, Beta Wanted, DarkandEvil!Tom, Dippet is my favorite, Gen, Gen Work, Harry has a different name, I'm having way too much fun with this, LightandSometimesAnnoying!Harry, Minor Violence, More tags will be added later, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Ok all the time, Tom can be an asshole sometimes, Work In Progress, no time travel, older!harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-16 06:00:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3477155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RustedSilver/pseuds/RustedSilver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dark isn’t synonymous with power and Light isn’t synonymous with mediocrity. For centuries, the victors have changed and rewritten history, censuring everything they feared. Now, the Wizarding World is in for a reality check.</p><p>Or: It’s been seven years since Hadrian Peverell stepped foot in Great Britain. Now, with the War with Grindelwald over and everyone focused on rebuilding and moving on, Hadrian is back and willing to do whatever it takes to accomplish his goals—and no one, not Tom Riddle nor Albus Dumbledore, is going to stop him. Even if he has to drag the pair of them by the ears, screaming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The King Returns

**Author's Note:**

> My second fic! Hopefully I actually finish this one. But I have a good feeling for this fic. :) Short summary; but I'm having a hard time coming up with something better. Also Beta Requested!
> 
> Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling.

**Chapter One: The King Returns**

Tom Riddle smirked at the Thestrals as he left his carriage, walking towards Hogwarts. Tom was a seventh year now and he was finally where he should have been from the beginning—at the top of the hierarchy.

Abraxas Malfoy approached him, “Welcome back…my lord.” The last was whispered.

“Has there been any progress on the matter we spoke about at the end of the last school year?” He asked idly, though his eyes were frozen chips of ice, daring any sort of negative answer.

“Yes…I had spoken to the person, and they told me the object would be moved as soon as they received your say so,” Abraxas stated confidently, though his eyes gave him away as they locked on his ones, seeking approval.

“Good,” Tom stated, “I trust you will handle any potential issues that may arise from this?” It was a question, but he hadn’t asked. It was a politely disguised order.

“Yes, To—my lord.” Abraxas hadn’t lowered his voice this time, and Tom glared at him.

“I think, that we should keep to my name in all public settings.” Left unsaid was that they should still all give respect to him regardless of location.

They entered the Great Hall and took their seats, with Tom sitting exactly in the middle of the Slytherin Table. His followers all sat around him, with Abraxas Malfoy at his right and Orion Black at his left. Across from him sat Doran Lestrange, while Matilda Byrnes and Armand Bulstrode sat across Abraxas and Orion.

Tom listened as the pureblooded witches and wizards discussed the latest gossip. Orion and Doran were having a heated discussion on Dumbledore’s and Grindelwald’s duel almost two months ago. Abraxas was speaking with Matilda and Armand about how the Dark community was furious with the end of the war and how they were ready to keep fighting the Light wizards.

Occasionally, they glanced at him, but they never said anything forthright. He knew what they wanted to know: What was the plan for this year? Would the Chamber of Secrets reopen? Would they finally get to practice the Unforgivables?

As if he would discuss any of those subjects with them. They were followers—they would know as much as they needed to, when they needed to, and nothing else.

Tom sneered, as he thought back to the absolute fiasco that the Chamber of Secrets had turned into. With the media attention and Dumbledore’s overly large nose poking its way into his business, it was a miracle that anyone had managed to die at all. Myrtle Kissinger hadn’t even been who he was trying to kill. The stupid girl had been in the wrong place at the worst possible time. His real intended victim hadn’t died, and the school almost shut down. Tom closed his eyes, that had been a close game, and with any slightly observant Headmaster, Tom would have been considered slightly suspect with his sudden knowledge. But Dippet, the fool, hadn’t even noticed. Dumbledore had noticed, but Dumbledore always noticed everything. Unfortunately the threat of Grindelwald had kept Dumbledore’s hands tied with Ministrial matters and the professor couldn’t spare any time to investigate the truth.

Tom sat, bored, eyes drifting to the Ravenclaws, who were all eagerly discussing classes and careers, and oh how impressive Dumbledore is. Tom sneered at the last one.

The Hufflepuffs were all even more excitable than usual, discussing how they had spent their holidays and who was dating whom. No change there.

The Gryffindors were all sporting stupid grins on their faces, cackling like a band of baboons, and shouting how Dumbledore was so brave, like a real lion. Tom grimaced, before looking towards the Head Table, where the professors sat.

The Headmaster was cheerfully looking at the students in front of him, while the other professors, were all laughing excitedly. Tom raised a brow; he supposed the professors must finally be glad to see the end of the war. But, Dumbledore—the Defeater of Grindelwald—seemed to be anxiously glancing around him. Tom frowned; there was an empty seat next to Dumbledore. All the professors were accounted for; perhaps they were having a guest from the Ministry—no doubt happy to see the Transfiguration Professor—or the Board of Directors.

Finally everyone was seated in the Great Hall. It seemed like this year was going to be even more interesting than he had first thought.

*~*~*~*~*

Armando Dippet was very pleased with himself. He had finally gotten what he had asked for all those years ago. Seven years, its been, he thought. Seven years and a war started and ended, and finally he’s home.

If many people were to be believed, Armando Dippet was a weak old fool. Too kind and merciful towards misbehavers, too unassuming for a Headmaster of such a distinguished school, and too easily bullied by more brilliant people—Armando knew very well what people thought of him. After all, it was a façade he had painstakingly perfected when he was much younger.

If anyone cared to find out—and hardly anyone did---they would find after a bit of research, that Armando Dippet—contrary to rumor, had not been a Hufflepuff.

No, in fact he had been a Slytherin. And every Slytherin, regardless of other factors, had the sense of self-preservation. When Armando had been a boy, a Slytherin student, Wizarding Britain was dealing with the worst goblin rebellion in four hundred years. Many of his peers, contemporaries, and older Housemates had been cocky in their own perceived power and blood. But they had all died. Goblins care not for blood or power; they follow the allure of gold. And Dippet, who had been freshly graduated, had both the means and the motive to get some. In return, the goblins had given him information—and when the economy fell, Dippet as the new History of Magic professor had been safe and secure.

To this day he had never regretted it.

So today he smiled and laughed, ignoring Dumbledore’s suspicious looks, and knew he looked the fool.

He laughed some more; yes, he had never had great ambition or magical power, but did that matter when he was one of six Slytherins who had survived from his cohort?

Armando had lived through one of the worst Goblin Rebellions; he had lived through the crash of the Magical economy, and both Muggle World Wars. He had survived Grindelwald, and had taught many of the greatest Lord-level wizards in history. They all thought they manipulated him; but many times it was the other way around. Hogwarts could not afford to have a weak Headmaster, though he could hardly be called that.

He toasted himself—it felt good to be alive.


	2. New Changes, Old Faces

**Chapter Two: New Changes, Old Faces**

Dippet got to his feet, looking at all the students in the Great Hall. As he clapped his hands under a _Sonorus_ , everyone turned their attentions to the smiling Headmaster.

“Wonder what brought his mood up?” Orion Black whispered, as the room hushed.

“Welcome to all students new to Hogwarts, and welcome back to all the returning students! Over the summer, one of our very own professors helped our Ministry fight the Dark Lord Grindelwald. Professor Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald and the Dark Lord’s trial for war crimes will be held in Switzerland during the next several months.”

Tom looked at Dumbledore, noticing the man didn’t seem to be swelling in pride like usual…in fact, he seemed slightly distracted, scanning the Great Hall over and over again.  Tom frowned, but could not figure out what the man was doing.

“This year will have some changes in the course material—“

At once, students began to whisper to each other.

“—including a _very_ familiar face for the professors at Hogwarts.”

At this, many of the professors seemed to be holding back smiles. Professor Merrythought looked as though she was going to start laughing, while Professor Dumbledore looked disgruntled, though he was still looking across the Great Hall warily.

Tom had a blank face, while his followers all turned into gossiping old women.

“I wonder whom he’s talking about?” asked Armand Bulstrode.

“Did you see Merrythought’s _face_?” Lucinda Greengrass asked.

Suddenly, the doors to the Great Hall opened, a loud thundering sound echoing off the walls. All the students turned as one to face the doors, alarmed expressions on their faces. 

A young man, probably in his mid-twenties, stood leaning against an adjacent wall. First year students all stood silently in a single file line next to the stranger, staring up at him with awe.

 _“Miss me?”_ The man had a smirk as he drawled the words, looking straight at the Headmaster.

To the surprise of every student, Dippet chortled, “My _dear_ boy, you always did know how to arrive in _style_.”

Tom looked at the other professors; they all seemed to be smirking or laughing. Dumbledore’s eyes were locked on the stranger, a peculiar expression on his face.

“Come sit, child, I was about to introduce you.” Dippet smiled gently.

The young man smirked at Dippet, and sat down right next to Dumbledore, who looked as though he had swallowed sour lemons.

 _Interesting_ , Tom thought.

“This year, I am pleased to inform you that all seventh years will be taking a new mandatory class, which will be taught by Professor Hadrian Peverell.” He nodded at the stranger. 

“Professor Peverell, as many of the other professors here will remember, was a Gryffindor from the Class of 1938. He had the received the highest possible NEWTs in all his classes and graduated a top student of Hogwarts. He was a member of a large and diverse number of extracurricular clubs, including Seeker and Team Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, Champion of the Dueling Club, as well as Prefect, and Headboy. This year, Professor Hadrian Peverell has graciously returned to his old school as a professor, in accordance to a new initiative launched by lauded members of the international Magical community. He will be teaching a new course called, ‘Magical Theory, History, and Law,’ which, well I don’t want to ruin the surprise, is going to be very _exciting_.” Dippet was starting to gush, and Dumbledore coughed slightly.

“Ahem…now, again this class will only be allowed to seventh years, though Professor Peverell is also starting a Debate Club—which will be open to all students.” He beamed at this, and to Tom’s amusement many of the professors sitting were rolling their eyes at the Headmaster’s behavior.

“Now, for the new students—“ The rest of the speech followed previous years’ models.

Tom put aside all thoughts of Peverell, stroking his new ring as he contemplated the state of Magical Britain.

He looked to his followers, ideas and plans for this year dancing in his eyes.

After all, he was in his seventh year, and Grindelwald was no more. It was _his_ time to rise.

Tom couldn’t wait.

 _Lord Voldemort_ couldn’t either.

*~*~*~*~*

Of _course_ , it was _Hadrian Peverell._ Albus had been suspicious when Dippet had mentioned offhand, that he found a new professor.

Never mind the fact that there were no openings.

He had thought, back in 1938, with no small amount of relief, that with Hadrian’s decision to travel the world and not stay in Britain, he could have some moment of peace.

Apparently he had counted his dragons before they hatched. Now Peverell was back. _And_ it happened to be just after the Chamber of Secret fiasco with Tom Riddle last year.

Because that was _exactly_ what he needed, Tom Riddle and Hadrian Peverell both at Hogwarts at the same time.

“Can you pass the peas, _Albus_?”

Albus froze. He did not just—

“Did you not hear me? Perhaps you are getting on in age?”

That insolent little—“ _Hadrian_. Back so soon from your travels?” Albus asked through gritted teeth.

“Yes, and I am _starving_. You know, really in the mood for peas with my soup, but I _suppose_ that’s too much to ask for.”

Albus grabbed the bowl of peas and put it down hard on the table in front of Peverell. “Better?” he asked sarcastically.

“Oh _Albus_ , if I didn’t know any better, I would think you actively disliked me.” The words were innocent enough, though green eyes mocked him.

How he hated those eyes.

Albus shook his head. It had been seven years, things had changed, and Hogwarts was _his_ domain now. _He_ was in control now.

“What are you doing here Hadrian?” He asked quietly, not wanting to be overheard.

“The same thing as _you_ , Great Defeater of the Evil Dark Lord Grindelwald.”

Albus suddenly remembered how _insolent_ the boy was. Time and other responsibilities had made him forget.

“I take it you’ve heard?” he asked, more as a courtesy than any real desire to talk.

“Who _hasn’t_ heard? Grindelwald’s inner circle knows that the two of you had a lover’s quarrel, but a _duel_ , didn’t that seem a bit overkill?” 

Albus’ blood ran cold. _How did he—?_

“Purebloods are such _gossips_ you know.”

That didn’t tell him anything.

“Hmm…how about we battle it off? If you win, I’ll tell you how I found out, “ Peverell stated.

“And if _you_ win?”

Hadrian laughed, attracting attention from many around the Hall. “I always wondered where you got Fawkes from.”

“Deal, after the feast.” With that information dangling in front of him, it wasn’t like he was going to refuse.

After all, _what was the worst that could happen?_

*~*~*~*~* 

Hadrian smiled and laughed with the other professors—his colleagues now, he supposed. It had been seven years, he mused. He wasn’t the only one who had changed though, it seemed that while he had left Britain, everyone had changed.

He wondered if Merrythought and Dippet were still having an affair. Glancing at them, he saw that those flames had long gone out. _What else had changed?_ It didn’t matter, he was Hadrian Peverell, and he had _plans_. And _nothing_ was going to get in his way.

After the desert had disappeared—he had _missed_ Hogwarts’ treacle tart—the Prefects all began leading the students to their Common Rooms.

He quickly moved, catching up with the Gryffindor Prefect. Ignoring the many eyes that were suddenly on him, he murmured, “ _Debate_ with me and Dumbledore tonight. Open invitation. Tell everyone.”

The Prefect’s eyes widened, at once understanding, “Of course, “ he nodded.

Hadrian flashed a grin. “See you there.” 

He made his way back to the Head Table, whistling as he did so. Ignoring Merrythought’s entertained expression, he turned to Dumbledore. 

“Coming Professor?” He teased.

“Call him Albus, you both are colleagues now, “ Oh thank Merlin for Dippet’s obvious favoritism.

Dumbledore gritted his teeth but nodded.

“Well, Albus?” Hadrian let a small smile appear on his face.

Dumbledore stood up and together they made their way out of the Great Hall.

Many students watched with open curiosity as they left.

As soon as the doors to the Great Hall shut closed, and they had both entered an abandoned corridor, Albus immediately dropped the stiff smile his face had been locked in.

“Let’s do this.” He said.

Hadrian nodded, eyes dancing with anticipation.

_It feels good to be home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Dumbledore seems to have developed a Snape-ish attitude towards Harry. I have no idea how that happened. Let me know what you think! Next chapter should have the duel and should be posted some time next week at latest.


	3. A Lion Cornered

**Chapter Three: A Lion Cornered**

Albus walked through the entranceway to the Dueling Room, robes swishing behind him. He scanned the room, bright from the lights on the walls, glancing for his opponent.

He inwardly scowled as he found he couldn’t see him anywhere in the room. The sides of the dueling platform were crowded; it seemed as if every Gryffindor decided to show up to witness the two professors duel.

He frowned; _where was the brat? If he decided to change his mind—_

His increasingly murderous thoughts were interrupted by the fifth year, Gryffindor Prefect, who had approached him and stood nervously, waiting to be acknowledged.

“Yes, Jonathon?” He asked, when it became obvious the teenager wasn’t going to speak first.

“Sir, Professor Peverell said he would be arriving as soon as he changed into more appropriate clothing.”

 _What—How dare he?!_ Perhaps he was being a little irrational, but he _knew_ this was Hadrian’s way of showing more disrespect. Had it been any other person, Peverell would have done the courtesy of informing them in person—not sending a mocking message. 

Hadrian Peverell and he had always had a combustive relationship—even when Hadrian had been a first year, the brat would never accept any lesson or advise he gave. No Peverell _had_ to argue, and argue, and argue, until one or both of them ended up losing their tempers and a shouting match would break out in the middle of class—much to the entertainment of the Slytherins and Gryffindors present.

Oh how annoying the brat was—far worse than Tom Riddle. Riddle—dark though _he_ was—at least stayed polite and respectful to everyone. _Hadrian_ though—Hadrian would make it a point to be annoying to whomever he chose. To some, Hadrian Peverell was a perfect little angel, but to others he was the spawn of the devil.

The brat was far too opinionated—everything should have rules or structure, but if Peverell had his way society would be in chaos, not a rule in sight. The worst part was even with his horrible personality and reckless life goals, the brat had the audacity to always keep to accepted morals and ethics. Everyone—whether they loved him or hated him—could agree that Hadrian Peverell was a _kind_ soul, a _good_ person.

That made Albus hate him even more.

Suddenly, movement near the entranceway caught his attention. The next second, Hadrian Peverell strolled through the doorway, a devil-may-care expression on his face.

*~*~*~*~*

_5 minutes earlier:_

Hadrian walked through the corridors of Hogwarts—nodding his head at some portraits, while smiling at others. He came to a stop near one of a beautiful Duchess from the 4th century.

“Glinda, my dear…It is so nice to see you again.” He flashed a smile.

“Oh Hadrian, you charmer! Its been years—what are you doing back at this old school?” the lovely woman giggled.

“What can I say? I was getting bored sightseeing the world. Too much of the same stuff,” he drawled sarcastically, “I decided to explore my past some—one never knows just what can be hiding there, after all.”

She scoffed, “That was hardly an answer… But you always knew how to keep your secrets. Very well then; I won’t pry—this time.”

Hadrian smirked, “Nor any other time. But I have to hurry, dear _Albus_ mustn’t be kept waiting—his head will explode from the sheer disrespect.”

“Go on then; off with you…and next time you better bring some interesting gossip to share!” She pointed a finger at him sternly.

Hadrian laughed as he kept walking towards a corridor close to the Gryffindor Common Room.

Hadrian Peverell strolled towards the doorway—only accessible to Gryffindors, past or current—and entered the Dueling Room. It was a Gryffindor secret—but Godric Gryffindor, while the other Founders had been busy building the Great Hall and kitchens, built his students a Dueling Room. Only visible if one was or had been a Gryffindor—It was Gryffindor’s pride and joy. And also a secret. The other students all knew of Slytherin’s infamous Chamber of Secrets, but Gryffindor’s Dueling Room was a jealously guarded secret. People who dueled in the secret room were, in public, said to be _debating_ —with a certain emphasis on the word. Duels determined status—winners had to be brave and bold, and the best would rise to the top of the social hierarchy. Most Ravenclaws and Slytherins assumed there was no hierarchal system among Gryffindors, but that was partly wrong. Gryffindors—instead of plotting or showing their intelligence, resourcefulness, and cunning in a verbal fight—had duels. And the undefeatable winner of the duels would be considered the King. For many years now—in fact, since Albus Dumbledore had been a seventh year—the professor has been the King of the Lions. Once a King—always a King, that is until you were defeated.

Hadrian, back when he had been in school, had been tempted, but ultimately he had decided against fighting Dumbledore for the position. For one, he hadn’t been nearly as good a dueler to have been able to have a greater than small chance at winning. But, for another, Hadrian knew that losing to Dumbledore—who had been Hadrian’s Transfiguration Professor as well as Head of House—would have driven him crazy. Especially since he _just knew_ Dumbledore would have never let him forget his defeat.

But he was older now—and he actually had a chance. He had traveled the world—seen and did things he would never have dreamed of, witnessed magic beyond his wildest imagination. He knew that Dumbledore had also trained—he must have, to be able to duel well against Grindelwald. But Dumbledore wasn’t nearly as powerful as he thought he was—and his recent success would have just increased his ego. And wasn’t that a saying: _Pride goes before a fall?_ He had a chance—a very good chance—provided _he_ didn’t end up too self-confident.

And he had reasons, besides his desire to see Dumbledore’s fall, to _win_. All of his plans would be accomplished much more easily if he won the duel tonight.

Hadrian nodded at Dumbledore as he entered the room. He made the nod as mocking as possible; an angry Dumbledore was a double-edged sword, but he had always been good at predicting a raging Albus Dumbledore—a cool-headed one was far more dangerous, at least to him.

They both walked up the stairs and stood on the opposite ends of the platform. The Dueling arena was long and narrow, making it hard for duelers to dodge and hide. The platform was 5 feet above the floor of the room, so that the spectators all stood around them heads raised, to see properly. Shorter students stood on top of the tables in one corner of the room, while taller ones stood closer to the platform.

The Gryffindor prefect stood and climbed onto the platform, standing in the middle, between Dumbledore and him. He glanced at the two of them nervously, before speaking, “Alright, now the duel is between Professor Albus Dumbledore and Professor Hadrian Peverell. The Demands are…” he trailed off looking at them.

“Should I win, Hadrian Peverell will tell me how he found out a particular secret we discussed this evening, “ Dumbledore stated, looking at him with piercing blue eyes.

“And should I win, then I will be Head of Gryffindor House, “ Hadrian said smoothly, noting Dumbledore’s shock at his demand. He hoped the Transfiguration professor wouldn’t refuse, but it seemed Dumbledore was confident of his victory. He watched Dumbledore’s eyes widen, then narrow in determination.

“The Rules are as follows: No unforgivable, no Dark magic, no magic deemed illegal by the Ministry of Magic. As Gryffindor Prefect, I, Jonathon Cornwall, will be witness to this duel. I swear on my magic to judge fairly and without any knowing bias. First one to fall off the platform loses. Any Duel that lasts longer then a half-hour is marked as a draw—with no winner or loser. As Professor Dumbledore is the current appointed “King” of Gryffindor House, any loss for him is a loss of this position, with his winning opponent being appointed the next “King”. Agreed?” Cornwall looked at both of them as they both nodded, arms held out as a flash of silver light came out of their wands, sealing the witnessing of the Rules and Demands.

Hadrian grinned. _Game on._

The prefect moved out of the way, to the front of the watching audience. Many of the students cheered the famous Transfiguration professor, but Hadrian had quite a following too—some witches who blushingly cheered him on, as well as a group of older wizards who grinned and clapped for him. Hadrian smiled at them before turning back to face Dumbledore, noting that the older man had done the same. Hadrian’s eyes narrowed.

“Begin!” The prefect announced.

Dumbledore stood still, eyes watching him analytically. Hadrian, in contrast, conjured Black smoke between the two of them. Dumbledore moved to counter immediately dispelling the smoke barrier that had formed, but Hadrian had already cast a Flame throwing spell.

Dumbledore froze the flames in ice and sent it careening back at Hadrian, at twice the speed Hadrian had originally used. Hadrian cursed and conjured a dragon made of fire, that swallowed the frozen flames and exploded above them. Hadrian and Dumbledore both cast _Protego_ to protect themselves from falling fire and icicles.

Dumbledore, being farther away, conjured a lion that charged at Hadrian. Amidst cheers, Hadrian ran at it—to the crowd’s shock—and immediately changed into his Animagus form.

Some students looked around confused, as the Hadrian seemed to have disappeared before their eyes. The others murmured excitedly—Hadrian smirked, his form was a Thestral. He flew from above the lion, before charging down and biting it on the jugular. He spit blood as he changed back to his human form, dodging a purple spell sent from Dumbledore, who finally recovered from seeing his Animagus form. Hadrian turned the ground beneath the lion into water, the injured lion drowning as it grasped for something to hold onto. The lion disappeared as it died, and the water turned into a wave that attacked Dumbledore.

Dumbledore created a barrier using a tall bronze shield, and the water crashed into it, before turning towards Hadrian. Hadrian cast the water away, and Dumbledore did the same with his shield. They both stood panting as they watched each other. Hadrian smirked as he said aloud, _“Legilmens,”_ while he braced himself as he cast sickly yellow lightning above Dumbledore. Dumbledore’s eyes widened as he ran from the end of the platform, barely dodging the lightning but not the Mind Invading Spell.

 _Hadrian found himself on a sandy beach, waves lapping at his feet. He frowned, as he looked around himself. Dumbledore was an Occlumens, he knew, but his mental protection was a_ beach _? Something didn’t seem right._

 _He cast a Flame spell at the sand, turning it into clear glass. He said, “Reducto!” pointing straight at the long thick glass, which shattered. Everything turned dark_ …

Hadrian found himself lying on his back on the platform, his wand several feet away, and Dumbledore triumphantly towering over him, wand out. His eyes widen as he realizes how close he is to falling off, and uses his hands to wandlessly shove Dumbledore off balance and over the other side of the platform. Dumbledore, caught by surprise, falls to the floor, ending the duel. 

The sudden end, and not at all expected, lead to a shocked silence for several seconds, before thunderous applause greeted his ears.

“Did you see those spells?”

“What about that shove? _Wandless magic?!_ ”

“I did _not_ see that coming.” More than one student exclaimed about the end.

Hadrian grinned as he slowly rose to his feet. Ignoring Dumbledore’s evaluating gaze, he looked at the Gryffindor Prefect.

Jonathon Cornwall approached him, declaring loudly, in the sudden anticipatory silence, “ _King_!”

The students cheered—Hadrian felt pretty damn good too. 

*~*~*~*~*

Later that night, Hadrian heard a tapping at a window of his quarters. He opened the window, letting an owl come in, drop a note on his desk, and leave just as quickly. Hadrian frowned, he had not been expecting any letters.

He glanced at the open note, not touching it yet.

_We know why you are here. We are warning you—certain factions within the Ministry will do anything to see you fail. They will see you fall._

It was unsigned and the handwriting was unfamiliar.

Hadrian cast searching spells on the note, only for them to come back completely clean. _Not even a magical signature_ , he thought.

He looked back at the last sentence: _They will see you fall_.

 _Let them try_, he thought suddenly, viciously, green eyes flashing.

He burned the note, until all that was left was ash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The duel was hard to write out, but I hope it wasn't too disappointing... Anyways, hope you liked it! :)


	4. Dangerous Liaisons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there may be some canon references in this chapter hehe.

**The Next Day**  

Albus Dumbledore sat at the Head Table, buttering his toast. He ignored the speculative eyes of his Gryffindor students, as well as the still adoring expressions from the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, or sneers from the Slytherins.

He could not believe—Hadrian had—

Albus was not having a good morning. Though to be fair, his mood had been ruined the minute Hadrian Peverell had come sauntering back to Hogwarts.

Though the former Gryffindor had changed quite a bit. _Wandless magic?_ He thought, half in wonder and half in suspicion. _Now where could Hadrian have learned that?_ Even though he was no longer King, nor Head of Gryffindor House, he felt the duel last night had been worth it. Hadrian had changed—Animagus form and Legilmency aside—his dueling had been strong as a student, but now it was more refined, more finely controlled. He didn’t think any of the students had realized, but Hadrian hadn’t been using his full potential. He was fighting to win certainly, but he was _hiding_. _Why?_ He thought, _what would be reason for hiding his abilities? Unless it was Dark magic_ … He stopped that thought—Hadrian had never especially cared for the Dark Arts before, no he had always been more interested in history, obscure spells, contradictory pieces of law and… old Light magic.

Before he could pursue that thought further, Hadrian plopped down besides him, yawning loudly. Many students stared at him—the Slytherins looked scandalized, while many of the witches present giggled and blushed. The Gryffindors looked at Peverell curiously, eyes shining with questions.

Albus ignored him, serving himself some scrambled eggs. Hadrian, obnoxious as ever, stated, “Bathilda Bagshot is such a _storyteller_.”

Albus turned towards him, “Bathilda told you.”

“Now did I say that?” the brat grinned cheekily at him.

“What _are_ you doing here, Hadrian?” He sighed.

“The number of times I’ve heard that…what does one do at a school? I’ve come to teach.” He sniffed, sounding faux-offended.

Albus felt like screaming in frustration.

“To teach what?”

“So suspicious, Albus…perhaps this is why our dear Headmaster decided to let all the other members of the staff know beforehand that I would be returning—except for _you_.” 

Albus gritted his teeth at the jab.

“Wandless magic?” He asked quietly, eyes boring into Hadrian’s eyes.

“I _did_ say I traveled the world.” Hadrian’s face was completely blank, showing none of his thoughts.

“Who was your teacher?” Albus probed, a sudden suspicion forming.

“Why, the same person who taught _you_.” The mocking tone was back.

But Albus couldn’t breathe. _He didn’t mean…_

Hadrian Peverell had met Gellert Grindelwald.

_When? How?_ Thoughts and questions appeared in his head, and though he was immensely curious, he knew better than to show that to Hadrian.

“Is that so?” He asked nonchalantly, “And what else did you learn, I wonder?” 

Hadrian only smiled secretly, tucking into his breakfast instead.

 

*~*~*~*~*

It was breakfast, and all the Slytherins were excitedly muttering.

“What do _you_ think the new professor is going to be like?” Abraxas asked him. 

Tom sat, sipping his tea. His eyes glanced towards the person in question, who was conversing with Dumbledore. His lip curled, “We will _see.”_ The last was almost hissed, leading to the other Slytherins gazing at him curiously.

He shook his head, changing the subject. “There will be a meeting soon. We should discuss any new developments later. Have you all been practicing?”

They all answered affirmatively, attention already caught on the new topic.

Tom’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the two figures at the Head Table—and unbeknownst to him, his eyes flashed a pure red.

After breakfast, the Slytherins made their way to the third floor.

“It says Professor Peverell’s classroom is accessible from the last room on the third floor, “ Orion stated.

Tom opened the door, only to see an empty room…with—was that a trapdoor?

He gestured to Armand Bulstrode, who hesitated, but then opened the trap door. It was dark.

“Are we just supposed to..?” Armand glanced at him.

“After you, Armand.” Tom said.

Armand hesitated, but with one warning glance from Tom, looked through the trap door, and jumped.

“AARRRGGGHH!” His voice seemed to come from a far distance.

“Is it safe?” asked Lucinda Greengrass.

“Yes! There’s some sort of soft landing.”

One by one, the Slytherins all warily fell through the trap door, with Tom at the lead.

It was a long fall, but they finally landed softly in a dark room.

“We must be miles below the school,” Walburga Black stated in awe.

Suddenly Orion screamed. The ground beneath him rustled, sounding like a forest. “It’s got my leg!”

Everyone started talking over each other, worried.

Tom frowned, he thought—

“ _Lumos maxima!_ ” As light flooded the room, the plants beneath them fell to the sides, letting them fall to the floor below.

They got up slowly. Above them was a huge mass of Devil’s Snare.

The room they were in now had a door on the other wall. They walked to the door, but it was locked. Frowning, Armand tried, “ _Alohomora.”_ The door decidedly stayed closed.

Orion frowned, but said, “Look up!”

Hundreds of keys flew silently above them. One looked like it had a broken wing.

Tom pointed, “ _Accio_!” The key flew into his hand, where it immediately began struggling.

Tom opened the door, and the rest of the Slytherins sighed in relief as the next room was the classroom. Some students already sat at their desks, excitedly murmuring to each other. The Gryffindors seemed the most ecstatic. The few Hufflepuffs seemed completely terrified, staring around the room warily, as if waiting for any more challenges to appear in front of them. The Ravenclaws sat at one side of the room, chattering about the different ways they could have found the classroom. Tom walked to that side of the classroom, before choosing a seat. The classroom had an unusual design, in that instead of individual desks, there was one massive circular table, with Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs at one side and Ravenclaws and Slytherins at the other.

The professor was nowhere to be seen. The other Slytherins slowly began whispering about the new professor’s eccentricity and unusual classroom entrance.

Suddenly a door to the back of the classroom burst open. Everyone glanced at it, but not seeing anything they warily turned back to their conversations. After 5 minutes, all the seventh year students were sitting around the table, clear House distinctions visible. The students all were looking around, trying to see if the professor was there.

“I wouldn’t put it past him to put another challenge,” muttered Armand resentfully.

Suddenly the hair on Tom’s neck began prickling. He turned around, and not seeing anything, looked left and right. Suddenly, he had a thought—

At that precise moment, a figure fell on top of the center of the table, from the tall ceiling. It was Hadrian Peverell, their new professor.

Peverell grinned at their shocked faces, as he jumped off the table and stood to the front of the classroom. Tom quickly blanked his expression, not showing any shock or other emotion.

“6 minutes, 32 seconds, we’ll see if we can beat that time next class.” He stated cheerfully.

“Welcome to Magical Theory, History, and Law, or THL for short. My name is Hadrian Peverell, and you all will address me as Professor or sir.”

There was a shocked silence in the room, as everyone processed what Peverell had stated.

“As most of you have already noticed, this class is highly different from any other class you have taken at Hogwarts. My method of teaching is highly Socratic, meaning I will ask questions and you will defend your point or opinion against each other and myself. This class will involve mental and physical challenges at the beginning of class, daily assigned readings, mandatory discussions, duels, and spell practicing. I will teach you to use the brains you all possess and form and be able to defend your own opinions. Today, however, is more of an introduction to the course. I will also mention why Hogwarts is implementing this class, and finally, I will be handing out the assigned textbooks.”

“The situation you all faced with having to enter through a trapdoor involved, bravery, cunning, intelligence, and loyalty. You were all brave enough to fall through the dark trapdoor, cunning enough to find what advantages you had and use them, intelligent enough to recall prior information regarding Devil’s Snare—which you covered in Herbology in your first year, and you were all loyal enough—either to the group you entered with, or to me as your professor. You did not abandon the class.” 

He studied their faces, “Every class, you will all face a challenge. This will stimulate your brain as well as serve as a wake-up call to those of you who like to sleep through your morning classes.” He smiled wryly here.

“These morning challenges will not be counted as a grade, though I do warn you—should you decide not to put in your best effort, you may find yourself _maimed_. Nothing that the Hospital Wing can’ t fix of course, but still. Also every class you beat your previous challenge time, you all win a spell. Today’, it took the entire class 6 minutes and 32 seconds to get through the Devil’s Snare, open the locked door, and sit in the classroom. Should you beat this time, I will teach you an obscure, but useful spell next class. These spells are not taught at Hogwarts—in fact they are foreign spell, in other languages, and their counters are also in those languages. My spells are most _definitely_ worth beating your challenge time. I have spent 7 years studying and traveling abroad and have learned a most interesting list of incantations.”

He glanced at each student’s face, before continuing. 

“To start off the introduction to the actual course material, can anyone tell me the difference between Light and Dark magic?” Professor Peverell asked, scanning the students sitting in front of him.

Tom sat straight-backed, facing forward, the perfect image of a top student. Inside, he sneered. _This_ was the topic the _perfect_ Hadrian Peverell decided to start the first day of the term with? Every child in the whole of the Magical world knew the answer to such a basic question.

Evan Griffith, a Hufflepuff, raised his hand, “Light magic is magic of fire and water while Dark magic is of air and earth.” Even the Hufflepuff sounded confident.

“Correct, Mr—“

“Griffith, sir”

“Mr. Griffith. Yes, and would anyone tell me which type of magic is more powerful, which is more dangerous, and what type of magic most witches and wizards use?” Peverell asked, as he gazed intently at the assembled seventh years.

Tom wondered if this class would end up being useful at all, something that seemed more and more unlikely.

“Dark magic is more powerful and dangerous, which is why the Ministry has deemed it illegal. As most witches and wizards use Light magic, Dark magic is considered a taboo subject to even discuss in Wizarding society,” Tom hadn’t even noticed himself answering the question until he was finished.  Although he hadn’t said anything _wrong_ he decided to stay focused so he wouldn’t end up saying something that might get him in trouble.

“Incorrect, Mr…?”

“Riddle,” Tom was in shock. The Slytherins besides him all bristled; Tom had _never_ got a question wrong, to hear the new professor say he answered incorrectly, and on such a easy question, enraged his fellow Housemates.

Abraxas immediately raised a hand, “ Everyone knows that Dark magic is more powerful, after all Dark wizards are so powerful and dangerous…sir.” Abraxas hadn’t waited to be called on before launching into his spiel, and he said the last word with a sneer, mocking the Professor’s blatant idiocy.

Tom lay back against his chair, a slow smirk on his face, as he waited to see how this would play out.

“No, though the Dark Arts are more seductive, they are not _more_ powerful. In fact, thousands of years ago, the Light Arts were considered ‘Magicke Magnifico.’ They are no longer taught in any school of secondary wizarding learning, but long ago they were the tales of danger, madness, and death.”

Peverell analyzed their faces, before adding, “What I’m going to teach you is the theory and history of what we now call Light magic, which correctly named is in fact more Neutral magic with slight Light tendencies. Real Light magic was _fire_ and it _danced_. Dark magic, as most of you have no doubt heard, _sings_ to those with potential for the Dark Arts. Light magic is a polar opposite of the Dark; where one sings, the other _dances_.”

He abruptly changed focus, “2700 years ago, there was no fixed government in the world. Most nations were fought over, conquered and eventually, lost. In such ancient times, Muggles and Magical folk lived together, shared the same land, resources, and often lived very similar lives. The difference was that _Dark_ wizards and witches were close allies and friends with the Muggles, while the Light ones kept to isolation,” He smiled, seeing their outraged expressions.

“Yes, I see what you all are thinking, ‘This man is absolutely mad. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.’ It _is_ outrageous—but not if you learn the context of the time. Dark wizards shared a rapport with Muggles simply as an example of the classic, ‘My enemy’s enemy is my friend,’ idea. At that time, Dark and Light folk hated each other. But the Muggles considered Light magic, so entrenched in soul magic, heinous and interfering. Dark magic, on the other hand, was more entwined with blood magic, and similar to the Muggles’ rituals of sacrifice and prayer, that it was considered sacred and meaningful. Of course, this all changed when monotheistic faiths became more popular, but at _this_ time, Dark was good and Light was evil.

And this belief lingered for thousands of years—for countless millennia, Light wizards—hated, feared, and envied—isolated themselves for their own protection.

Unfortunately, as they came to realize, there is a catch to using the powerful Light magic. Powerful Light is so steeped in power, in magic, that it can cause drastic changes in the magic users. The more powerful a witch or wizard and the more dangerous the Light magic they use, the greater the chance for the user to become completely overwhelmed, obsessed, and corrupt.

Around 1200 BCE, there was a powerful Light Lord—we do not have any record of his birth name, but he was called Diavron. Lord Diavron was immensely powerful—he could control the parts of the soul such as Magical disposition and Core Trapping. However, Diavron was unusual from other Light Lords of the time, as he had an unquenchable lust for power—he never stopped trying to gain more magic, specifically Light magic. The problem with such greed, is how great the price is—especially for Light magic. Diavron is the reason, Light witches and wizards today do not actually practice Light magic. Diavron is the reason the Light community at that time all swore on their magic never to use the powerful Light magic again.

You see Diavron became corrupt. He was a Light wizard who became the Light Lord, who still wasn’t satisfied—and fell into Decay magic or White magic. White magic is magic used to manipulate, coerce, or bind souls. White magic is absolute control over a soul; it is the stronger form of Light magic—which can be used to observe, communicate, and sometimes affect the soul. However, it is completely unstable. White magic—unlike Light, Dark, or Neutral—consumes the user and always drives them insane. Unfortunately, White magic is also ridiculously powerful. When Diavron fell from a Light Lord to a White one, he completely terrified an entire Magical civilization. This was the first time in known history that Light and Dark magical people came together and fought against Diavron.

Eventually, when Diavron was murdered in a bloody battle, the Light community swore they would never use powerful Light magic again. They effectively gave up around 50% of their magical potential—so that they would never have to worry about becoming corrupt. This event became known as the Division of Light—the powerful Light magic became called ‘Greater Light’ while the magic we think of today as being Light became known as ‘Lesser Light.’ 

Light wizards and witches today don’t realize this but they lost access to that magic due to the actions of their ancestors. But their ancestors weren’t overreacting: not every Light witch and wizard gave up half their magical potential. The ones who didn’t—well your readings will discuss some of them more in depth.

Even today, the International Confederation of Warlocks keeps an eye on the so-called ‘Greater Light’ witches and wizards, just in case they become corrupt.”

Peverell paused, before looking at them, “Any questions?”

Tom raised his hand, along with almost every student in the class.

“Yes, Ms.--?” Peverell nodded at a Ravenclaw witch.

“Greenwood, and Professor where is the proof? You haven’t mentioned any sources…”

Ah, trust a Ravenclaw to look for credibility.

“Very good, Ms. Greenwood. The British Ministry of Magic has kept a censured most of the information found on these topics. If you wanted to research the information, you would have to find international references—this information is banned in Great Britain. The only reason I am able to teach you all about it is due to the ICW. The Confederation has effectively decided that it was past time to begin reintroducing Ancient Magical History and Theory in British schools. If you would like to search for reference books, however, come to me at the end of class, and I will provide you a list.”

“Mr.--?” Peverell pointed at a Gryffindor boy.

“Gloryfeather. Sir, my mother’s family is Spanish, and I grew up learning about Greater Light magic…Are you going to teach us Greater Light spells?” Gloryfeather, who was a quiet Gryffindor seemed extremely excited about this topic.

“I _did_ say you may learn quite a few obscure spells in this class—but yes some Greater Light magic will be taught—obviously we will not be able to go in depth, as this is the first year you will be learning this, and the Greater Light can be highly addictive if not properly learned.” Peverell cast a nonverbal _Tempus_.

“Last question..Mr. Riddle, was it?” Peverell pointed at him.

“Yes, sir. I was wondering…you talked about many different types of magic, how would you rank them—in terms of power?”

Peverell slowly smiled, “Lesser Light is less powerful than Dark, is less powerful than Greater Light, is less powerful than White. Neutral is at the bottom—a baseline, if you will. Though power for the _sake_ of power is hardly a smart choice—think if you will about the absolute _power_ of White magic but without any sanity…Doesn’t seem worth it, does it?”

And with that, Peverell waved his wand and textbooks appeared, as if from thin air, in front of each student. “For this class, we will be reading from a number of textbooks and internationally published articles. You will have to return all books when we are done with them. Do not lend or lose or damage these books in any way—or detention will be the least of your problems. ” He smiled, showing his teeth. “Assigned reading for next class is the ‘Introduction’ and ‘Chapter 1.’ You are all dismissed.”

The doors to the room opened wide, and students began trickling out, whispering to each other about the unusual class. Some students looked as though they still had questions, and didn’t care about being late to their next class as long as they got their answers. They determinedly looked at Peverell, who laughed and said, “Your other professors would murder me if I kept you. Go on, and if you still have questions, find me in my office on the Seventh floor, across from the portrait of the dancing nymphs. I will be there most evenings until curfew.”

With that said, Peverell smirked at them and vanished in a cloud of purple flames, leaving behind gaping students who started to excitedly chatter, including Abraxas—who seemed to have changed his opinion on the man, after hearing the lecture. 

Tom raised a brow—it seemed this year would be _quite_ unusual. _How interesting_ , he thought. _It seems this Professor Peverell is going to be quite the teacher_.

He followed the other Slytherins back to the Common Room, where they all sat down around the fireplace. Tom sat on a leather armchair and looked around at the rest of his House.

Turning to his _group_ , he asked, “Is the Wizarding public still as enamored with Dumbledore now as they were two months ago?”

Lucinda Greengrass answered, “Yes my L—they seem to be awed as ever with the man. I can’t say why—after all, if Dumbledore could have defeated Grindelwald all along, he wasted all this time doing nothing. That is some horrible strategy, especially in the middle of a war.”

Lucinda always did hate Dumbledore—almost as much as he did.

Orion sneered, “I tried looking into why Dumbledore seemed so inactive in the war, but it seems as though all anyone wants to talk about nowadays is how amazing the Great Albus Dumbledore is for _single-handedly_ winning the war. Did they completely forget about how their _Savior_ left them to die for almost half a decade?”

Demetrius Lestrange, Armand’s sixth year cousin who had joined them in the Common Room, spoke, “Yes and how suspicious is it that the _all-powerful_ Albus Dumbledore turned down a candidacy position for the _Minister of Magic_ to continue teaching Transfiguration to a bunch of teenagers? Personally, I’m betting he’s plotting something. No one in their right mind would turn down being the _Minister of Magic_.”

Abraxas interjected, “But right now, with Dumbledore as popular as he is, the whole Ministry is practically his anyways what with how they seek out his advice and gush his praises every other day. It’s _sickening_ but it’s not going to change anytime soon—not unless we find some dirt on the man and expose it to the rest of the world. And even then, it would have to take some spectacular piece of information for public opinion on him to change.”

Tom sat still, thoughts racing like lightning as he searched for potential ways to undermine Dumbledore’s new position of elevated importance.

“How about the new professor—Peverell?” He asked abruptly. Perhaps he could—

“He seems different—not like the other professors,” Orion stated, thoughtfully.

Yes, that was obvious.

“His methods seem interesting—how much do you want to bet his ‘dangerous magic’ is exaggerated?” Armand said slowly.

Lucinda sneered, “We all know that professors at this school would never teach any actual dangerous magic. That’s why Tom started the Practical Defense Against the Dark Arts and Other Magics Club.” She inclined her head at Tom at the last part.

“Yes, but...what if he’s different? What if he actually does—“

“Don’t be a fool, Abraxas. It doesn’t suit you—and since when have you been an idealistic dreamer?” Orion sneered.

Demetrius looked at the gathered seventh years, “What’s so special about Peverell anyway? And do you all remember how Dippet was acting all of last night. He seemed far too excited and gleeful. He _never_ looks gleeful.”

“Peverell seems to be a former favorite student of Dippet…As to what’s special about him, he actually wants to discuss Dark and Light magic.” Abraxas seemed intrigued at the last part.

“Abraxas here seems to have already developed a bit of hero worship in regards to the man, which is funny seeing how he told Tom off in class.” Orion stated pointedly. 

“Will you be singing Dumbledore’s praises next?” asked Lucinda, catching on to the jab.

“Hardly, “ Abraxas snorted, “Don’t you wonder though? The man is a complete mystery. And he wasn’t telling Tom off, he only said he was wrong. Also the man is very powerful, where do you suppose he was all these years? Dippet said he had went abroad after graduating—do you think he was fought in the war, on Grindelwald’s side?” 

“That would certainly explain Dumbledore’s dislike,” Tom mused.

“What?”

“Dumbledore doesn’t like Peverell?” Orion asked, surprised.

“Wasn’t it obvious?” Demetrius smirked. “The man was hardly his usual _kind and friendly_ self during the feast. And what do you mean Tom was _wrong_ , Tom is never wrong?”

“Peverell asked which type of magic was the most powerful, Tom said Dark magic. Peverell said he was wrong, and then explained why.” Abraxas said, “He was hardly rude, just honest. Did you expect the man—who _is_ our professor—to not correct students?” The last was sneered at Orion and Lucinda.

“Speaking of professors—where was Slughorn? I haven’t seen him at all…” Walburga finally spoke up.

“Hmm…I had heard from Macnair—he works as Junior Minister for the Department of Magical Accidents—that Slughorn was busy attending a victory gala last night, “ Demetrius stated.

“Victory gala?” Tom asked, suddenly interested.

“Yes—one of the many galas to celebrate Dumbledore’s victory over Grindelwald,” Demetrius sneered at the very thought.

Tom looked bored, losing interest.

“Slughorn is a coward. How we ended up with him as our Head of House, I will always wonder,” Walburga sneered softly. 

“Most Slytherins end up working at the top of their fields—a fine grade above teaching, “ Lucinda answered.

The Slytherins broke out into conversation on the mediocrity of the current professors—from Binns and his nonexistent teaching skills to Dumbedore and his obvious bias towards his Gryffindors.

Tom interjected here and there, but let most of the conversation flow uninhibited around him. Instead, he grabbed a book from his bag and opened it to the chapter on “Blackest of the Dark Arts: Spells to Twist and Break.” In the soft candlelight, the shadows played across his face, making his handsome face seem twisted and dangerous.

Tom smiled as he ran his finger down the description of a particularly gruesome spell. How could _Light_ magic be more powerful than this? Peverell must have been wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update--I had exams, then a break, and then more exams, so everything was super overwhelming. I looked over the chapter, but let me know if you find any mistakes. But anyways, hope y'all liked it!


	5. Nostalgic Discussions

Hadrian waited until all of his students left the classroom before cancelling his invisibility ward. He had used the purple smoke as a distraction to activate the ward, giving the allusion that he had simply disappeared—something he would be asking the seventh years about during their next class.

He strolled outside of the classroom, the _obstacles_ surrounding his room temporarily disabled to allow him clear passage.

Hadrian only taught one double block class every day in the mornings, straight after breakfast. Although his schedule was completely empty for now, he had no doubt the other professors would begin approaching him as a teacher’s assistant or something. Hogwarts professors could rarely show incredible spells as they usually needed another professor present in case something backfired. With advanced magic, one could never be completely safe, and Hogwarts professors refused to put their students in danger for a small exciting demonstration. The problem, of course, was that it was nearly impossible to find another qualified professor who was not only free, but also willing to supervise other classes.

Hadrian, however, literally had _nothing_ else to do, so the professors would hound him until he caved. Although he hardly planned on spending his entire time running from one professor to the next, ready to do their bidding. He sneered at the thought.

He had other things to worry about, not just his teaching and duties as the new Head of Gryffindor House. He planned on taking charge of the Dueling Club—the public one headed by Merrythought—and perhaps become some sort of Quidditch Coach for the House teams.

As Hadrian walked through the third floor corridor, he saw Dippet who was standing several feet away. “Headmaster, what a pleasant surprise to see you here.” He looked at the man suspiciously, not believing for a second that this was a coincidence.

“Hadrian, I simply wanted to discuss your first day, and how you’ve been settling in these past few days,” Dippet smoothly answered. Hadrian wasn’t fooled.

Hadrian nodded, and followed the other man as he led them to the Headmaster’s office.

“So, how did you like your first class as a professor?” Dippet asked casually.

“It was interesting…certainly different to be standing up in front of students than being the student.” Hadrian mused.

Dippet laughed, “Yes it must have been quite the change. How was your traveling? It seems that you have learned quite a lot…and made quite the friends?”

Hadrian stiffened, “Yes well…friends are always nice.” He finally finished lamely.

The Headmaster laughed heartily, “Well here we are.” The man raised his wand and tapped the gargoyle guarding the Headmaster’s office. The gargoyle leaped to the side, leaving an empty space for them to walk up the stairs leading to Dippet’s office.

The Headmaster winked at Hadrian, “The password is ‘Gold Rush.’ It changes every week, but all professors are notified of the new password at the weekly staff meetings. The first one of this term is on Thursday at 10 o’clock at night. The students should all be in their House dormitories, and the Prefects will manage the corridors for the duration of the meeting.”

Dippet ushered Hadrian inside first, so he climbed up the stairs to the closed door and waited as Dippet raised his wand and tapped a quick rhythm on the door. The door glowed slightly, before opening to allow them both passage.

“I hope you don’t mind the mess…the first day of term is always a bit hectic—lots of paperwork you see?” The Headmaster waved his wand and loose papers collected together in a tidy pile on a shelf in the corner of the room. The numerous quills on Dippet’s desk were placed in a drawer with another wave. Dippet gestured to an open seat in front of the Headmaster’s desk, and Hadrian sat down, amused.

With an especially exaggerated flourishing flick of his wand, the Headmaster called forth a plate of biscuits, a kettle, and two teacups and saucers. He poured tea in both cups, and asked, “Still 2 spoons of sugar?” Hadrian nodded, and he was handed his tea.

They both sat silently for a few minutes appraising each other carefully.

Finally Hadrian spoke up, “How have you been these past years, sir?”

“Had my favorite student bothered to keep in touch, perhaps he would know.”

Hadrian flinched, knuckles tightening slightly on his teacup. _So it was to be like this._   
“Sir, I’m sorry. I didn’t know if I was ever going to come back, and I thought it would be better to…”

Dippet said nothing.

“…to completely close contact with everyone.” He finished quietly, the tips of his ears turning slightly red. Hadrian resisted the urge to rub his neck with great effort—he was not a teenager any more.

Dippet still said nothing, only stirring his tea.

“I didn’t want to remember Britain, so I thought…” The sentence remained unfinished.

Dippet sipped his tea, finally speaking up.

“Do you know why I made you professor at Hogwarts, Harry?”

Hadrian looked up; Dippet was one of the few people who had used that nickname in his teenager years, though this was the first time he heard it since he had been hired.

“To be honest sir, no.” He winced, never feeling more like a child than when talking privately with this man.

“Let me explain. Once upon a time there was a young boy, a Slytherin. He wanted power but he didn’t want to be in the public eye. A paradox, for the public always searches out powerful people to look up to. But the boy was stubborn. He wanted power, not attention, and he wasn’t willing to compromise. Then a war broke out between the Goblins and the Wizards, and any ambitions were soon put aside in favor of survival. The boy grew up and saw how one by one his classmates all died. Some of them were stubborn, “We will fight against the barbaric Goblins!” They had chanted. Well they kept chanting that all the way to their deaths. Others were terrified, “Let’s run away and not fight.” They whispered—well, they were hunted down for treason. Some refused to come out of their homes, not wanting to risk their lives. Unfortunately for them, they were hunted down and killed off for sport by the Goblins—some of whom were excellent in Magical Warding. But that boy survived—do you know how?”

Hadrian frowned, shaking his head.

“He did not fight or run. He did not cower away—instead he was patient, and waited and watched. The war would end one day he knew, he only had to survive to see that day. So that boy knew he had to live and to do that he had to become invaluable. So he did. The boy observed the Wizards and the Goblins and learned that regardless of how bloodthirsty and powerful they were—they both lacked something.

The Wizards had no idea how to _find_ resources. They could invent and make but the baseline resources they needed to be able to experiment, they did not know how to find. Gold and silver, precious stones, and certain magical creature remnants, they could not find.

The Goblins, on the other hand, were brilliant at finding resources, but they were limited in what to do with them. They were experts in mining and excavating, hunting down the most priceless gems—but they could not _create_. They had no wands you see. And Goblins—though wandless for centuries—could not perform wandless magic and were not able to use any other magical focus. They could, at best forge weapons the Muggle way, but nothing as extraordinary as what Wizards could do.

So one side had resources but few ways to properly use them, and the other side had ways to use them but few resources. The boy who wanted to live, to see through the war, decided he would have to use this information. And he did. He covertly traded with both the Goblins and the Wizards, taking the gold from the Goblins and giving it to the Wizards, while taking ideas and inventions from the Wizards and giving them to the Goblins. Both sides valued him, both sides considered him secretly working for them. But the boy was a _Slytherin_ —and self-preservation came first. So the boy played the game of war and he won. 

When the war was over—the bloodiest Goblin Rebellion in known history—the boy looked at what was left. His entire family was dead. All his Housemates in his year up to 2 years above him were dead. Out of his entire graduating class, only 2 other students survived, a Gryffindor Muggleborn, and a Hufflepuff half-blood. All the rest were dead. So in the wake of peace, when time came to rebuild, the three survivors of an entire cohort in the Wizarding World were asked what they wanted to do. The Ministry—you see, was hardly going to allow the few survivors to run off to another country or disappear into the Muggle World. So Britain celebrated the survivors—made them into icons of heroes—though none of them could be called that truthfully. The media interviewed them for years, following their lives like a pack of hungry wolves wanting to live vicariously through them. Do you know what happened to them? 

The half-blooded Hufflepuff boy became the Director of St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, the _only_ large-scale Wizarding hospital in Britain. The Muggleborn Gryffindor gained controlling power over the Daily Prophet, the only mainstream Media news outlet that is read daily throughout the country.” Dippet sipped his tea again.

Hadrian had a sneaking suspicion—“And the Slytherin boy?” He did not ask eagerly.

Dippet smiled, and Hadrian shuddered.

“The Slytherin boy—incidentally a pureblood—became a professor at Hogwarts. He taught History first, then Charms and became so _distinguished_ , that the Board of Directors along with the Headmaster at the time chose him as the next Headmaster of Hogwarts.”

Hadrian understood, “You were that Slytherin boy.” It was not a question.

Dippet hummed, “Let me ask you again Harry, why do you think I hired you?”

Hadrian thought, “You’re…seeking _information_ about me?” He asked slowly, still not sure.

“Not exactly, although Knowledge is Power. No, Albus has just single-handedly won the war with Grindelwald. The Wizarding World is already singing his praises, looking at him like a _hero_.”

And suddenly Hadrain thought he got it, “You don’t want Dumbledore gaining control over the school.”

“Yes, two weeks before the start of term, what did I find but that the Board of Directors wanted me to suddenly name Albus as Deputy Headmaster. Prior to that, it has always been a joint decision on the succession of Headmastership, but I was told it would be a ‘good idea to name Dumbledore as Deputy.’ They all pressured me continuously, and I became entirely fed up with the whole matter and decided to cave in.”

He smiled grimly at seeing Hadrian’s expression.

“Yes, that wasn’t one of my finer moments, I admit. But what was done is done. I immediately regretted the decision but I could hardly change my mind once the documents were all signed. The Wizarding World would be in an outrage, they would probably demand _my_ resignation. The people are fickle, and one day a hero the next forgotten. They hardly care to remember the ‘Survivor of the bloodiest Goblin _Rebellion_ ’—and when did war become rebellion?—when their new hero, the Defeator of the Evil Dark Lord, stands in front of them. And Albus, despite _wanting_ to stay clear of power, has _always_ craved it.

I taught the man, and though many don’t realize it, professors always see through their students. Teaching a child who comes in at the age of 11, for seven long years, you begin to see through to what desires and ambitions fuel those students. And Albus has always wanted to be _recognized_ , to be _famous_ and grand. It is not a bad trait, oh no. But the Wizarding World idolizes their heroes far too much. It allows for power to be displaced to one person, or a select few…which in the long run, can have grave consequences. It has only been two months, but Albus is suddenly the Deputy Headmaster, and Grand Sorcerer. They have awarded him a Order of Merlin, First Class, and there is talk about him soon being promoted to the position of Chief Warlock of the Wizemgamot. That is too much power for one person—any person. The Goblins have a saying about war, you know, ‘…but I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend.’ They seem to have the right of it, while in the Wizarding World it is more along the lines of ‘All glory go to the warrior and all power go with it.’ It is absolutely _insane_.”

Dippet shaked his head, clearing his throat, and put his cooled teacup down.

“I hired you to do what you’ve always been good at, child…”

“And what’s that, sir?” Harry finally asked when it seemed Dippet would leave the sentence almost purposely unfinished.

“Antagonizing Albus.”

Hadrian winced before he could stop himself. _Dippet had noticed? Of course he had, you buffoon_ , a voice whispered scathingly in his head.

“I—“ 

“ _Child_ —Harry, I want _you_ to stop Albus from growing an ego. You have always had a rather _explosive_ relationship, and that was as student and teacher. With both of you as colleagues now—well, you’ve barely been back for two days, and already stolen the Head of Gryffindor title from the man. I think this will be good for him, for both of you.” Dippet smiled, as if imparting a grand idea. 

Hadrian choked, “I…I—Oh fine.” It wasn’t like he could say anything else after all. Dippet was his boss and it wasn’t like he wasn’t going to enjoy annoying the Transfiguration professor. “I better have no limits placed.” He added quickly, mind already racing.

Dippet winced—finally!—before he nodded, resigned.

Hadrian grinned, before shaking his head to clear his thoughts, “Sir? I’ve been wondering, since I came back…” He hesitated, not sure how to approach the delicate and rather _personal_ topic. 

“Yes?” Dippet looked at him inquisitively, an eyebrow cocked.

“How are things with you and Professor Merrythought?” He said quickly, mumbling the end. He felt his ears warm, and his hand twitched.

Dippet chuckled slyly. Hadrian stared, he had never heard the man make that sound befo—Oh!

“It was a test, wasn’t it?” He knew Dippet wasn’t as much of an idiot as he liked to act, but truthfully, he had never expected the man to be this…devious.

“Yes, though it may surprise you to know you are the _only_ student who has ever not tried to blackmail or use it to gain favor with either of us. Any Lord-level student is tested in the same way. They ‘catch’ Griselda and I in a _compromising_ position, and seeing as Griselda’s husband Santino Marchbanks is on the Hogwarts Board of Directors, the student in question gains ‘power’ over us. Of course the actual risk is nonexistent, but the student doesn’t know _that_. Most of the time, the student who catches us ends up asking for favors, occasionally blackmail is thrown around. But you, child, you amazed us. You asked us if we both knew what we were doing and then didn’t do anything else. No favors, no blackmail. You didn’t even give us sly glances or make pointed remarks. No you kept it a secret, and didn’t interfere, beyond making sure it was consensual. Even Albus had—“

“Albus had what?” Hadrain asked charmingly, interested.

“Albus had done something. You’re not getting anything else; I’ve already told you my life story, you’re not getting every secret I know.”

Hadrian pouted, looking slightly ridiculous, “And here I thought I was you’re _favorite_.” He stretched the last word out.

“I am no fool.” Dippet stated simply, daring him to push the topic further.

Hadrian knew better, and instead nibbled on a biscuit.

A bell suddenly chimed, and Dippet stood with a sigh, “I have to observe Binns’ class. There were complaints that he isn’t teaching the entire curriculum properly.” He winked at Hadrian, “A Headmaster’s work is never done, it seems.”

Hadrian stood up, brushing off crumbs, and wiping his hands with a napkin. “Nice talk professor, you’re even more brilliant and cunning than I thought you were.”

Dippet chuckled, “Call me Armando, you _are_ a professor now.”

Hadrian laughed briefly, “Yeah alright.”

He turned to leave, hand on the doorknob, when Dippet said suddenly, “Harry…A word of advice, the Ministry is particularly aware of you right now; you do not want them as your enemy.”

Hadrian, still facing away, froze, face blanking. Without saying anything in response, he opened the door, and left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in one week! Ok, so not a lot happens in this update, but character building is important I suppose, plus you learn more about Dippet. *Shrugs* Dippet and Hadrian's conversation took up almost 3000 words, and I was thinking that this was getting too long, so this chapter is the end product.
> 
> As always let me know what you think! Also can anyone spot the Tolkien quote from this chapter?


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